FNV: Trevor's Burden
by Anonymous Prick 3
Summary: Trevor, was a confusing man. No one could really explain why he did the things he did, sometimes he didn't know either. He wasn't a bad man, sure, he looked like trouble, but if you just watched him with a bit of scrutiny, and he was a generally a good guy. Real notice guy, if you could get him to warm up to you. But when he embarks on vengeance, he has to rediscover himself.


FNV: CH. 1

Trevor awoke to the sight of a clock. Groggily, he kept on staring at the clock, the only thing that existed at the moment. After a few seconds, he realized the clock was moving. Then he saw the clock gain two more hands, and finally, he saw that it wasn't a clock but a fan. He tried to stand up, to realize he had couldn't feel his legs.

"Wha- t? Where am … I?"

"Whoa there. Go ahead and try not to move too much there." Said an elderly man as he put his hand on Trevor's chest to push him back down.

"My name is Doc Mitchell. Most people here call me Doc though. Can you tell me who you are?"

Finding he could turn his head without any pain, Trevor looked at the man for the first time with attention to detail. He was an old man, with greying hair that was receding. He wore what looked like a prospector's outfit. A button-up shirt with a vest beneath, and bandana around the man's neck, typical jeans that looked practically sewn on him, and boots to pull it off. "My name is… Trevor. Yeah, I'm Trevor Philips."

"Well, Mr. Philips, can you tell me what the last thing you remember?" The Doc said with a bit of hesitance in his voice.

"What I was doing? Uh, yeah. I was delivering a package. Yeah, yeah, I was delivering a package up to Primm when I was, well, I don't know what happened actually."

" I figured that much out, seeing as you had a delivery order on you when Victor brought you in."

"Victor? Wait, I was brought in? Why am I here? Why am I so hurt!" Trevor said with a bit of panic making him bombard the Doc with questions.

"Whoa, whoa, calm down there youngster, wouldn't want you to knock yourself out for another week."  
>" A week! I was out for a WEEK!"<p>

"Yeah, I'll explain it all in a second. But first, you were shot." The old man took a brief pause waiting for another outburst from the young man, only to be met by a blank stare, as if he didn't say anything particularly interesting. "Eh, in the head."

"Wow, never been shot there. And I survived? How?"

"Well, see, that's just it. Lots of people believe if you get shot in the head, your dead instantly. In most cases, it is. You get your head smacked around a bit, yeah, blunt force trauma ends up hitting a lot in there. Have a knife go through it, yeah, if it's long it could go through all of it. But all those things have one thing in common. They're all non-precise. Big, heavy-hitters. Bullets, at least the small caliber ones, they usually kill people by bouncing around inside a person, while the big ones generally rip ya a new one. You were lucky, or unlucky enough depending who you ask, to be shot by a little one, and even luckier to be shot right between the eyes, the densest part of your skull. Still went through, but only enough to get in, and then it didn't hit anything you were using. In essence, you're one lucky son of a gun. I'm sure you looked great too, and my sewing hand is as steady as ever, but go ahead and take a look to tell me if I got anything wrong."

Having only absorbed about half of what the old man was rambling about, Trevor was looking around him. There was the cot he was on, obviously. A trunk at the foot of it, which Trevor made a note of to check if the old geezer ever stopped talking. He also saw a medical rack full of stuff he knew he couldn't afford. The idea of stealing it briefly flashed through his head, but Trevor quickly banished that thought. The old man, from what he had heard, had saved his life, and without charging him a cent either, yet. Then there was the fact that he didn't absolutely _need_ it. Trevor had his run ins with the law, but never for something that he himself considered bad, and for the most part he felt he had a good sense of right and wrong. Then he noticed the big ass mirror the doc put in front of his face, and caught the end of, " So, everything back in place?"

He took a look at himself for a minute, taking everything in. He had dark brown eyes, and jet black hair. A bit small nose, if not normal, and a bit of stubble. Considering he hadn't shaved in a month, the little facial hair didn't surprise him, he could never grow it out, even with the chance to shave it only coming up every few months or so.

"Doc, what the hell did ya' do! I'm a woman!"


End file.
